Now that the remaining days of dwelling in dream-land can be counted on all of my fingers plus a couple of toes, each segment needs to be savored as a thirsty person must savor segments of a ripe and juicy orange.

As I look back, a few memories pop up and touch my heart on their way to creating mini-pools that fill my eyes: the hills and heights of Switzerland, the proud monuments and vast coastlines of the French Riviera, the circus that is Rome, and all those moments of fleeting brilliance along the route.

The cable cars and funiculars took us to the tops of of so many mountaintops full of snow during the first part of our journey. Then in Cinque Terre, we climbed unending stories of stairs to our bed and breakfast.

How predicable and welcoming the trains stations were in Switzerland. We knew exactly which track to stand beside, which car to enter and which seat to take. The train system in Italy seemed to have been developed in defiance of that order; however, the feeling of uncertainty became a thrill. The uncertainty of not knowing that our train was heading where we wanted to go added spice to the ride. Dutifully, we learned how to purchase and to validate train tickets, only to discover that nobody bothered to collect them.

Nice, France and her neighboring well-dressed sisters are very nice, indeed. However, the Italians reveal openly their personality, which the French hold tightly beneath their polite exteriors.

In Italy, I rarely got beyond “gratzie”, while in France, I have made use of about 50 -100 vocabulary words and a little grammar. It’s funny how a state of complete confusion proved to be so exhilarating.

Before closing this chapter and wanting to keep “the end” somewhere in outer space, I want to thank some wonderful people along the way, some whose names I know and most whose names I will never ever know. Below are some whose images are freshest because they are the most recent, and perhaps the most special, all from Santa Margherita and a neighboring town or two.

Giuseppe and Melania, who could not do enough for us at breakfast each morning at the Grand Hotel Miramare, Santa Margherita.

The families who shared their music and joy

The man on the street reading the news of the day

Feeling comfortable on the rocks

Looking forward to returning to friends and home